Escort
by Anexie
Summary: Onceler works the streets at night, renting sexual services to wealthy businessmen. Greedler is a wealthy businessman. Onceler despises what he has to do; Greedler might just be able to help him. Oncest. Warning: attempted rape in second chapter.
1. Chapter 1

It's the same thing every day. Onceler makes the quick journey from the flatshare to the corner of 1012th street, where he arranges himself on the rickety wooden bench, and waits. Sometimes there is a lot of business, with a steady and constant flow of cars that make their way down the narrow road that splits the tall, formidable buildings either side. Some days there is barely any traffic, not even towards the later hours of the night; and he goes home hungry, and stiff from lack of movement. But every day, he hurries back through the scarlet streets with darting eyes and a sour taste in his mouth, and wishes feverently that in a few hours, he won't have to do it all over again. But in the back of his mind, he knows that his wish will never come true.

Onceler often feels disgusted with himself for begrudgingly but willingly stooping to such a level, but he tells himself he has _some_ standards. Morals. Rules: firstly, only handjobs and orals; second, cash up front; lastly – and most importantly - never get into the car.  
Onceler had heard stories about so many young men like himself who had disregarded the basics, driven off with someone and never been heard of again. Perhaps they had thought they'd finally found 'the one' – the customer who would whisk them away, give them a life of luxury and spoils in return for small favours. Or more likely; they'd been forced, perhaps at gun point, into the vehicle. Well. Nobody said this job was a _safe_ way to earn an income.

Although he thinks it is a highly fanciful and improbable idea, Onceler can't help believing in the hope that there will be someone, _someday_, that will take a certain fancy to him, and he'll no longer have to submit to _this_ for however long he can in his life.

* * *

It's quite late when the sleek limousine glides up and stops by the side of the road directly in front of him, the lights glinting sunset on the dark exterior. Onceler waits, debating whether or not he should accept this one – he's made enough today, and he was just about to head home anyway. The door of the limo opens,and the first thing Onceler sees is a pair of slender legs; toned thighs in elegant pinstripes that just go on and _on..._ and he decides he might actually take this last customer.

His usuals are fat, balding, middle aged businessmen, and to put it lightly – he _really_ doesn't enjoy sucking them off. Not that he_ likes_ doing _any_ of it, but... his mentality is that he might as well try and make the best of this godforsaken mess he's gotten himself into, and it keeps him from entirely falling to pieces, so...  
So, when someone pulls up who's tall, dark, and significantly young, Onceler does tend to try a _little_ harder to entice them.  
He sits up a little straighter on the bench, tossing his hair back and casting a sultry smile into the darkness that envelops the back seats of the vehicle. The blurred figure comes into clearer light as the man leans forward out of the car, and Onceler's mouth almost drops open as the moonlight hits the stranger's face. He's handsome, with a strong nose and dark eyebrows. His suit is sharp with wide lapels, and a vivid emerald colour; he's also wearing _opera_ gloves over the top of the sleeves, and although Onceler knows it should look ridiculous, somehow the man makes it look unbelievably _good._

Onceler licks his lips, slowly, sensually. 'Hello.'  
The man casts his eyes over his inviting posture of spread legs and come-hither dark eyes. His full lips quirk into a small smile, and Onceler smiles back, happy with the thought that he'll be going home with a few extra bills in his pocket.

The stranger's voice is deep and smooth and assured, and he's surprisingly polite. 'Would you be willing to come over here?'

Onceler raises an eyebrow. 'Don't you want to know how much this is gonna cost?'

'Oh no,' says the man, still smiling. 'I'd just be glad for some... help.'

It's all far too structured, too restrained for Onceler's liking, and he hesitates before walking over. Usually, they're far more vulgar and coarse with their demands, and he just settles the terms, gets the cash up front and then goes to town. But this... this is different, and although it's nice to be treated as though he has a choice, he can't help feeling sceptical.

He walks closer with a subtle sway in his hips, placing his feet delicately on the rough pavement with each step. He reaches the car, and raises an elbow to lean on the open door. He looks relaxed, but his muscles are twitching, ready to flee if he has to. Onceler steadily raises his gaze from the man's gleaming leather dress shoes to his face, clocking the glimmer of gold chain at his hip, the luxurious velvet encasing his arms. At such a short distance, Onceler can even _smell_ the man – but it's rather a _pleasant_ scent, rather than the fug of sweat and cigar smoke that hangs around the generic businessman customer. _This _one smells fresh and clean, like cologne with a sharp, metallic tang.

Onceler blinks hard a couple of times, deliberately forcing his mind back on track. He then speaks again, trying not to look the man directly in the face. His features, half hidden in shadow, are very kind on the eyes, and it's all quite distracting. And Onceler - literally - cannot afford to make any mistakes here.

'So. What is it I can do for you, Sir?'

'You don't have a cigarette.'

Onceler does a double take, and silently questions the efficiency of his hearing. 'What?'

'I thought escorts smoked.'

Onceler's eyes narrow, and he replies, a little too shortly, 'Not all of us. Some of us actually understand what a damaging and pointless and loss-making hobby it is.'

And then he realises that his easily-provoked temper has probably just lost him the job. But to his surprise, the man chuckles; it's a low, sexy sound, and it rumbles through Onceler and hooks him in.

'You speak your mind. It's refreshing.'  
Silence, as Onceler dares not open his mouth again, and then-  
'Come closer.'

Onceler edges a little nearer, places his hands upon his hips. 'Can I be of assistance?'

'Yes. I think-' The man moves on the seat, swinging his legs outside to plant his feet on the road. He looks up, and his face is suddenly in full view, illuminated in the sweet moonlight. His eyes glint emerald beneath strong brows, and Onceler finds himself unconsciously leaning in to him. The stranger smirks, and moves his knees a little further apart. '-if you'd be willing..?'

Onceler swiftly gets to his knees and tries to conceal a sigh, before slowly running the palms of his hands up the man's thighs, thumbs pressing against the inner seam of his slacks, and the fabric shifts as the tent at his crotch becomes more apparent. It's Onceler's turn to smirk them; it's not really anything to be proud of, but he _is_ kind of the best in the area. He hides in this little backstreet because he doesn't _need_ to be out on the main road amongst all the competition – word of mouth is enough to ensure that he gets customers.

He leans forward to nuzzle the man's clothed erection with his cheek, and then mouths hotly at it, making sure his warm breath is directed right at the straining head. At this point, a lot of them mutter something about 'hurrying the fuck up', but this stranger is surprisingly complacent to let him do whatever he wants, which suits him fine. Because he likes to take his time at this stage, to slowly coax them into a state where they'd do _anything_ to have him – it gives him the upper hand, which is very important for a successful transaction.

After a few seconds, he pulls back and looks defiantly upwards. 'Do you have cash?'

The man snaps into a state of more logical thinking – he can practically see it happen, with the tensing of his leg muscles – and begrudgingly reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a band of notes, thumbs through them and then hands a bill to him, which Onceler accepts with a clipped 'Thank you', before stuffing it into his own jeans pocket and getting right back to business.

He unbuttons the fastenings with a practised ease and takes the cock out, which stiffens under the assault of the cool evening air. Wasting no time, Onceler drags his lips from base to tip, feathering his tongue along the shaft. He feels the weight of the expected appearance of a hand in his hair – but it's different this time, what with the gloves. The velvet feels smooth, comforting against his scalp. But he doesn't pay much attention to the soft pads threading through his hair, and just gets on with it by suddenly swallowing as much as he can – the fingers curl into his hair and tug on the strands harshly – and then he pulls back again, humming, sucking on the upstroke and constricting his throat on the down; performing all the tricks he knows.

The stranger's leg starts bobbing up and down rapidly with the built up tension; he settles one hand on the knee to relax him, and uses his other to trace steady patterns along the outside of his thigh. The flat of his palm smooths along the luxury textile of the man's expensive slacks, and Onceler delights in pressing his fingers firmly against the muscle of his thigh, exploring every curve, every ridge. His hand wanders north, slowly, up to the man's hipbone and at the same time he delves down again and takes the whole of the throbbing cock into his mouth. The tip hits the back of his mouth but he forces himself not to gag, instead concentrating on tightening his throat, swallowing and sucking. The stranger, who had gasped sharply when he'd deep throated him, moans lowly through gritted teeth as he hums around the hard length, pressing his tongue against the underside.

Soon enough, the familiar salt and musk fills his mouth – though the taste is slightly different with everyone. Onceler's lips are swollen and raw, and his knees are painful against the cold pavement, but these are feelings he's very much used to. Besides, he can feel the man tensing and juddering, and knows it won't be long now...

He pulls back once more, pulling and sucking deeply all the way up and then complacently rides with the motions as his hips buck into his mouth a few times and his head is tugged forward by his hair. A quiet groan sounds into the cool evening air, muffled by velvet, and Onceler braces himself as the onslaught invades his mouth. He pulls off and swallows hastily, trying not to grimace too much, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The fingers slowly uncurl from his hair.

He looks up at the man, who has obviously been staring at him because he turns his head away as soon as Onceler's eyes meet his own. As Onceler stands, he quickly tucks himself back in, rebuttoning his trousers, and then sits up a little straighter. He coughs awkwardly. 'Thanks.'

Onceler shifts his weight to the other foot, shoving his hands in his pockets. No one's ever thanked him before, and he doesn't quite know how to reply. But manners don't cost a penny. 'No problem,' he says, his gaze fixed on the potholed tarmac.

The man smiles, and the glint of his perfect, white teeth catches Onceler's eye. He's sitting right on the edge of his seat now, and Onceler is able to look upon his entire face again. He looks a little different to the brief glimpse that he'd caught before – his cheeks have a light flush to them and his lips are wet, but his eyes still gleam intelligently in the dim light. He raises one eyebrow, adopting a mildly devious expression. 'We'll have to do this again sometime.'

And when others have said this to him, Onceler has been disgusted at their pompous, self-righteous tones; but with _him_, it's more jokey, more playful – and has a note of sincerity to it. This man really _does_ want to meet with him again. The knowledge makes him feel triumphant, even given the circumstances of their meeting.

'And here-' The man reaches into his pocket and pulls out the wad of bills once more. He sections off a couple of them, gesturing for Onceler to come closer. '-take this. A token of my appreciation.' He takes Onceler's hand in his own, and folds his fingers over the crisp papers that will buy him a little more luxury to his meals for the next week. Emerald eyes meet his own dull blues, and Onceler has to look away under the intensity of the man's stare, pulling his hand back and regretfully relinquishing the feel of those soft, warm gloves.

'Uh. Thanks.' The man's politeness is starting to make him feel uneasy - usually, his tips are meagre and tossed to the pavement beside his feet. He usually turns up the charm at this point, wanting to ensure that the customer will return, but this time, something just doesn't feel right. Perhaps it's the way the man's fingers were so soft in his hair, the pads of his fingers making comforting circles at his temples as he sucked him off. Perhaps it's the over-generous tip, and the respectful way it was placed into his palm. Or perhaps it's the way the man's been looking at him the entire time, with such timidity and _gentleness _in his expression.

Swinging his legs back inside the car, the man goes to close the door and Onceler steps out of the way. But then the stranger hesitates and smiles at him one last time. 'I'm Greedler, by the way,' he says cordially, before extending a hand to shut the door, and then Onceler's left staring at his own reflection in the opaque black window. The vehicle drives off smoothly.

Onceler shoves his money deeper into his pockets, jams his hands in after it, and then begins the brisk walk home, trying to work out whether or not he _does_ want the man – Greedler – to return.

* * *

The next few days pass just the same as usual with no surprises or hitches; just fistfuls of hard skin and the taste that makes him flinch, and smug businessmen with crisp paper bills clenched in their sweaty palms. Each evening, as the sun sets behind the ramshackle buildings and the wind grows cool, Onceler looks up hopefully every time a car pulls into his little street – but never does a limousine crawl down the cracked tarmac, and never does a man with supple velvet hands beckon him closer.

But just as his patience begins to elude him, Onceler glances up on the sixth night to find himself face to face with that gleaming black exterior, and he watches his blurry reflection in the dark window as he unconsciously breaks into a grin. Then a whirring sound cuts through the air, and the window glides downward, and Onceler immediately forces his expression into one more serious, more businesslike. Which happens to involve coy smiles, and the raising of one eyebrow above half-lidded eyes. And five minutes later, he's got his head back in Greedler's lap and his hands wandering across his thighs; they drift upwards, past the wide belt buckle, up to the man's tense abdomen where they press and clench and revel in the slight musculature that is just barely hinted at beneath the crisp white shirt. Onceler finds his own lower regions hotting up, the jolts of arousal sparking, and he quickly finishes the job before things can get too heated for either of them.

And then a generous tip is offered, of more worth than the last one, and Onceler takes it bluntly and without emotion – however he is secretly thrilled. Greedler's hand cups his fingers for a little longer than necessary, their eyes meet and Onceler is the first to look away because the intensity in those vivid emerald eyes is just too much to look upon, like staring into the green sun. The door closes and the vehicle drives away, and Onceler watches it until it turns the corner. He goes home, fastens the multiple locks on his door, collapses onto his worn mattress and jerks off frantically, visions of glinting irises and full lips, pale skin and satin hands flickering before his screwed-shut eyelids.

The next evening, Onceler is surprised to see the increasingly familiar limo glide up beside him, taken aback to see Greedler return so soon. He saunters over to meet with the open door, and begins to get down onto his knees onto the cold pavement, but he's stopped by a hand gently resting on his elbow.

'It's alright. I don't... I don't want you to do that, today.'

Onceler frowns sceptically. 'Well, why did you come here?'

'I-I just wanted to... talk to you...?' Greedler trails off, his tone getting higher at the end as his lips form the uncertain question, with his usually smooth and even voice stuttering and catching in his throat. He runs a hand through his hair from forehead to the nape of his neck, the long dark locks tumbling against the vivid green fingers.

Onceler is both unnerved and intrigued by the abnormal behaviour, and he looks at the other quizzically. 'Talk to me? If you wanted a conversation buddy then couldn't you have just gone to a bar, or something?'

'I could have,' is the replied quip.

Greedler says nothing more on the matter, but simply scooches along the seat a bit to make room and then pats the vacant space beside him. Immediately, a little red flag shoots up in Onceler's mind, and he shakes his head quickly. 'No thanks.'

Greedler looks mildly disappointed. 'Ah well,' he says, leaning over and reaching towards the carpeted floor of the vehicle. 'I was expecting that, anyway. Which is why I bought _this._'  
With a flourish, he brings out a pristine, brand new folding stool and holds it out to Onceler, who takes hold of it, trying to decide whether he's touched or offended by the man's gesture. 'Thanks,' he emits begrudgingly, before assembling it on the hard stone ground and sitting down on the cushioned seat. He unknowingly sits in a position that suggests withdrawal, defence; his feet settled wide apart in arrogance and his arms tightly folded across his chest. Also unbeknownst to him, Greedler swallows awkwardly and takes a deep breath before leaning forward and engaging in small talk.

The topics and subjects of their speech remind Onceler of a first date – within half an hour, he's learnt Greedler's full name, his work and the company that he owns, his background and history... the man seems to be more than willing to share all of the facts about his life that Onceler himself keeps so carefully guarded. They chat about the weather, the area of town they currently sit in, their favourite foods. The sky grows from a pale, misty red of a summer evening to a thick navy colour, and as time passes, Onceler starts to shiver in his sleeveless shirt.

Greedler pulls out a pocket-watch from the folds of his coat and looks at it, raising his eyebrows in disgruntlement. 'It's late. We'd both better be going.' The chain jangles as he places it back in his pocket, and Onceler uses the noise to cover the sound of his own small sigh. He gets to his feet heavily, folds the stool back up and thrusts it in the other's direction. He leans on the car door, bending down slightly to be still on eye level with the other man. Onceler feels like it's the least he can do, after a good hour of being treated with the respect he's never been given before. 'Nice talking to you,' he says, and he means it.

Greedler smiles, teeth white and even in the darkness. He extends one perfect, pristine palm, and as usual, pushes a bound wad of cash into Onceler's hand. It's more than he's even given him before, and well makes up for the possible profits from the customers in the two cars that drove by earlier, that they both ignored. Onceler frowns. 'This is too much, I can't- I mean, we've only been talking-'

That velvet hand moves to his face, and the index finger settles on his lips and immediately quietens him, due to how sensual, how _intimate_ the touch feels.

'Just take it. But make sure you spend it wisely – buy yourself something nice. Something worthwhile.'

Greedler's voice is controlled and assured, and Onceler finds himself compelled to listen and follow the instruction of that smooth tone – the mark of a true businessman. The soft fingertip leaves his lips, and Onceler licks them self-consciously. Greedler continues. 'I'll be seeing you again soon. I really have enjoyed your company tonight... thank you.' His eyes are kind and filled with light, and Onceler knows that he's being genuine.

He stands to the side and closes the door for him. And although he can no longer see Greedler through the dark glass, he knows that Greedler can see _him_; and so he gives a quick wave before hastily striding away.

And although Greedler knows he can't see it, he waves back at his retreating figure, and the limo drives away.

* * *

The next day, Onceler wakes up much earlier than normal; he usually sleeps in until about one in the afternoon, to catch up on his rest, and because there's no real need for him to be awake before then anyway. People who require his services don't really go for mid-morning pleasure hunts.

So he wakes, uncharacteristically full of optimism, and the first thing he does is check his secret stash of the crisp green paper that grants him so much. He remembers Greedler's parting words, and quickly gets washed and dressed and ready for the day ahead, even remembering to shave the fine, teenage fluff that adorns his jaw. Where he's going, it is imperative to make the right impression in order to obtain what he wants.

Onceler's never really ventured into the nicer side of town, but he swallows his nervousness and strides with an air of faux confidence like he knows what he's doing. He walks along with his hands in the pockets of his best jeans, the fingertips of his right hand barely brushing against the wad of money nestled deep in the bottom. Those who pass by him are bright, cheery and lively, and some even offer him a genial smile – in such contrast to those people who inhabit street corners just a couple of miles south of his current location.

Store after store catches his eye, all so colourful and airy, but Onceler doesn't dare enter them. He would feel _so_ out of place, with his cheap attire and harsh accent. He'd be thrown out. Ironically, only a year or so ago, he would have sauntered into these shops with no shame, no humiliation, in moderately fine clothes and wielding a polite manner. Onceler had always been able to set hearts aflutter and cheeks aflame with his amicable charms – which had played a significant part in rationalising his decision of 'taking to the curb', as it was known. He'd thought he'd be able to make easy money with his powers of seduction, to earn a spot of extra cash here and there with his well practised 'come-hither' glances. What a naïve delusion.

One particular shop stands out to him more than the others. The wide windows are decorated not with feeble mannequins arranged in simpering positions, but with tasteful green lights illuminating the casual, yet luxury articles folded artistically on humble shelves against a dark backdrop. Glints of gold sparkle in the emerald light. It's so subtly beautiful, and it appeals to Onceler so much that he clenches his jaw, swallows his uneasiness and swiftly steps inside through the heavy door.

To his surprise, he isn't submitted to double takes and second glances, or steered out back the way he came. People move about inside to the mysterious, calming music, touching and holding up the luxurious garments of soft wool and cotton and silk.

Onceler flits from rail to rack, his slender fingers brushing over every fabric imaginable and drinking everything in with bright eyes and a stifled smile. He used to _love_ shopping; _love_ shops such as this one, back when different circumstances surrounded him and he felt able to enter them.

The watchful eyes of a store assistant follow him around the store, watching as the boy in the battered boots and faded tee shirt fingers the thick, smooth knits and flicks through the rails of expertly cut and tailored jackets. Onceler doesn't notice, too caught up in his rare contentment. He feels the weight of the notes in his pocket against his thigh, and silently whispers a gratuitous 'thank you' into the air.

* * *

Later that evening, Onceler sits in his usual spot, waiting. His leg bounces up and down on the ball of his foot in unrest. However through his agitation shines a quiet satisfaction; in his new clothes, he feels _good_. And he looks good, too – he's quite certain of that. He's had almost double the amount of business in the past few hours, and some even when he was just strolling along the main street, earlier.

He doesn't have to wait long. Soon enough that gleaming limousine glides up in front of him and the door opens, and Onceler stands up just as Greedler comes into view. He's already holding out the folding seat to him, grinning almost cheekily and obviously in a very merry mood. 'I told you I'd see you again soon.'

Onceler cant help but smile back, despite his usual stoic manner. 'I had no doubt of that.'

Greedler beckons him closer and within the minute Onceler is sat down on the stool, leaning into him in conversation and barely able to contain his smiles. Greedler looks him up and down, eyes flickering across his tall, lithe frame. 'Those clothes suit you. Very much so. You look _great_.'

Onceler smirks and shifts his position pointedly, folding one leg over the other. He can't help but agree – the dark trousers hug his hips and thighs and outline every curve, and the silky, lightweight turquoise button-down highlights his blue eyes and flatters his narrow shoulders without making him look too thin. It's a _significant_ improvement. 'Thank you. I hope you agree that this is a – how did you put it? - '_worthwhile_' investment?'

Greedler chuckles and Onceler looks to the pavement, pleased with himself. A clear, ringing _clink_ makes him glance up again; Greedler is watching him expectantly and holding up a large bottle of champagne and two cut-crystal flutes. 'May I offer you a drink?'

Warning lights flash inside Onceler's mind, however somewhat muted than usual. He _wants_ to be able to say 'yes', but to do so would be a huge risk. In Greedler's world, the world of business, taking the right risks could land you with another few million in cash. In _this_ area of work, risky behaviour could land you deep in a place that _everyone_ tries to pretend doesn't exist.

Onceler shakes his head, feeling strangely guilty. 'I'm alright, thanks.'

Greedler appears slightly wounded as he places the second glass back where it came from. He sets about popping the cork of the bottle, holding his flute between his knees. His eyes dart up to Onceler's just for a second, and he says with a tone of dejection hastily being concealed by playfulness, 'Don't you trust me?'

Onceler shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He doesn't know the answer to that question. Not yet, anyway.

The cork comes out easily due to the added friction of those velvet gloves, and the loud popping sound breaks the silence between them. The liquid splashes as it swirls ungracefully into the flute, and it is then that Onceler suspects that Greedler might already be ever so slightly tipsy. But instead of making him feel uneasy like he usually feels in the presence of not-sober businessmen, the other's bright expression and fun manner makes him experiences a quiet _fondness_ for him. When Greedler grins cheerily at him and asks him about his day, he smiles back contentedly and answers him with the truth. 'It was fine. I went uptown and bought these clothes, went and had a nice coffee in a nice coffee shop, got stared at by those who thought they were obviously of a higher class than myself... just the usual.'  
Greedler says nothing, and just stares at him for a while, the ghost of a smile on his lips. 'You know,' he says, gesturing towards Onceler with his drink. 'You speak a lot better than any other escort I've ever talked to.'

Onceler shrugs modestly.

'Why is that? Why are you so... _different_ to the rest of them?'

Onceler bites on his lower lip as the word 'trust' flits through his brain once more. He's only known this man for less than a fortnight, after all. But Greedler seems kind enough, if a little self-indulged and arrogant – but that comes with his job description. In the three times they've come into each other's lives, Greedler's given him more money than Onceler could hope to earn in a week, and only twice has asked for something in return. He treats him with respect, and as a complete equal. Onceler is equipped with Greedler's life from childhood to present; it is only fair to give a little back.

And so he tells the businessman about how he was once part of a relatively wealthy, but fatherless family, wherein his brothers and own mother constantly scorned his wild fantasizing and envisioning. He had countless ideas and plans, a never-ending stream of inventions that would change the world for the better. And one day he came across the ultimate, revolutionary product, so decided to dig out his entire life savings and leave home to create a better future for himself with the aid of what he optimistically thought was the best thing since the toaster strudel.

However, this turned out to be quite a deluded way of thinking, and within a year Onceler found himself on his knees and nowhere to go. Too proud to return home and back into those smug arms, he'd desperately resorted to utilising the only thing he had left – his sex appeal. He'd discovered the downtown district and it's below-the-surface establishments, had watched and observed and learned how to tussle his hair into a sexy mess; to buy his clothes in 'slim fit' styles; to blink dewy bedroom eyes at passing cars. The first time he'd ever given a blow job, he'd darted around a corner afterwards to throw up – luckily_ after _receiving his earnings.

That had been one and a half years ago.

All the while he's been recalling his memories, Greedler has been listening intently, leaning into him with sympathetic eyes and twiddling his champagne glass between emerald fingers. Onceler hasn't really been paying attention to how many times the glass has been filled, but as Greedler easily sets the bottle down on the floor of the limo, it seems to have no weight to it and Onceler can tell it's almost empty.

Greedler sighs sadly. His brow is slightly furrowed and his words are slightly slurred. 'I'm... I'm sorry to hear about all that. It must have been hard.'

He settles a hand on Onceler's knee in a comforting gesture, looking up at the younger man with wide green eyes, so full of sadness – so different from the emeralds that glinted with arrogance, the first time they met. One suggests control and dominance, and the other admits the man to being human and capable of emotion, and Onceler isn't sure which he finds more appealing.

He pats Greedler's hand with his own palm as if to reassure the both of them. 'It wasn't the best. But I'm okay now.'

But the businessman still looks mournful. 'I'm sorry things didn't turn out the way you wanted them to... I-I wish I could make things better for you.'

It takes a while for the words to sink in, then Onceler suddenly feels deeply moved. Regardless of the alcohol's affect, Greedler would be willing to _help_ him. Whether it's true or not; he still _said _it.

Onceler smiles wide in gratitude and quietly exclaims, 'Oh, Greedler-'

-but he doesn't get to say anything else because suddenly he's being kissed; his mouth is being gently brushed by someone else's lips for the first time in _years_; all he can taste is the sweet intoxication of expensive champagne and the tickling of soft hair against his cheek...

He raises his palms to those wide lapels and pushes Greedler off him, cursing loudly. 'Fuck!'  
Greedler over-balances backwards and ends up half-sprawled on the limo's back seat. He scrambles upright, but Onceler is already on his feet, fists clenched and eyes blazing with anger. 'How _dare_ you! I open up to you, and..._fuck_! You're just like all the rest!'

Greedler flinches. 'I didn't mean it like tha-'

'No! Fuck you!' Onceler kicks out at the folding stool; it keels into the limo's exterior and leaves an unsightly scratch on the bodywork. 'Take your fucking chair!

He turns away from Greedler and begins running up the alley to the main street, just as the front door of the limousine opens and a smartly dressed driver steps out. Onceler doesn't notice as the driver furiously gesticulates towards him, nor how Greedler hastily shakes his head and prevents the man from giving chase – but Onceler wouldn't have been able to see anyway through the blurry haze of tears moistening his eyes. He hurries through the scarlet streets as all the red lights swim in his vision and intensify, matching the rage beating through his veins.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Onceler doesn't return to 1012th street. He takes up his stance on the other side of the district instead – the darker, more dangerous side, where knife crime and sexual assault is commonplace and happens daily. But he has no choice. He is _not_ going to wait in his usual spot for that... _bastard_ to turn up and disappoint him again.

His first night there, he's as jumpy as a jackrabbit. When he's walking to find a suitable spot, he tenses every time someone passes him, casting his eyes downwards to the scabby pavement. He finds a space in a snicket just off the main road and ducks in between the towering buildings either side. If he stands leaning against the rough brick wall, he's in plain view of the street, but half in shadow. Mysterious shadow. He's relying on the air of mystery to gain him attention – people just don't come to those who are too hidden and shy, _or_ those who are too apparent and stand on street corners waving down cars. A subtle balance must be obtained.

The first night, after about an hour, Onceler takes two customers, one after the other. They are different to those he regularly sees; if they are businessmen, they are traders of cheap pornography and sex toys, and they smell of stale sweat and cigarette smoke. Then he is left to himself, shivering in the cool breeze that whistles through the alleyway and flinching at every loud sound. Shrieking and screams, he discovers, sound often in the night air and are not unusual – though he can't tell if they have tones of terror or pleasure. Both possibilities make him feel uneasy. He takes a moment to thank his luck that when he'd first walked into this whole escort business, he hadn't stumbled across _this_ part of town.

Onceler gives it another half hour and then hurries back home earlier than usual, before it gets too dark. Whooping and hollering follows him through the streets; the word 'faggot' is a popular insult. He gets some positive attention too, with shouts of _'Nice legs!'_ and_ 'You looking for a ride, baby?'_', and he swears beneath his breath and walks faster. As he passes one alleyway, the light of the street lights up the darkness and he sees two figures, one stocky and obviously a man, one a lithe-figured woman. Muffled screams escape her mouth, stifled by the man's hand. The other hand is clutching and snatching beneath her skirt. Onceler averts his eyes and hurries past, and practically sprints the last half a mile back to where he lives.

The following evening, he doesn't appear in tight shorts again, instead hurrying to his self-proclaimed site with covered legs in a pair of old, loose jeans. He doesn't do any better in terms of profit, and finds himself wistfully thinking of the stacks of cash held out to him in supple, soft green palms. He walks home on a different path than the previous night, along the main road, and he feels slightly safer, although the catcalling still pierces his ears, and for the first time in his life he curses his attractive appearance.

He continues going there every day for the next week, and the only good thing that comes out of it is that he gains customers at a good rate. By the end of the seventh evening, Onceler has given favour to no less than fourteen different men, more than ever before - _and_ one or two women requested a quick fumble with him. Usually, he just works with males, but he's desperate for the pay, so he tries not to squirm too much as someone's tongue tangles with his own and long, manicured nails grasp at his groin. A total virgin to the female body, he tries to let his hands wander and give pleasure, feeling and grasping and pressing – but he doesn't really feel it. Nevertheless, he gets paid, and one woman in her late twenties even has the nerve to pat his cheek before she moves away. Onceler hears her say to her companion, 'God, I love the young ones,'. He almost submits to the sudden flare of outrage within him and shouts out to her, but he decides to head home instead, gritting his teeth and with his hands balled into fists.

He counts his money when he gets home and although it's not a patch on what he earned with Greedler in his life, its not a bad profit. And the next day is Friday, and Friday nights are easily the busiest. His face must slowly have been growing recognisable and known amongst the people around him where he takes impermanent residence every evening, and so with the recognition, he knows that he won't be going home with empty pockets the next day.

However, he feels so optimistic about it that he forgets all about the higher risk and danger that more visitors will bring, and doesn't take any special caution.

Onceler steps out under the clear skies of Friday evening in the luxurious trousers and shirt that he'd bought the week earlier, a sway in his hips and his hair soft and shining. He takes his time walking the now-familiar route, enjoying the last of the setting sun. It lights up the sky in streaks of vivid scarlet - as the night grows dark the red remains, flashing and glimmering in every available surface from the lights on the high stacked buildings crammed in either side of the road.

Onceler sighs, turning around the corner wall of the adult shop two block away from his usual waiting area. The street is surprisingly quiet, even though it's one of the main access roads – he would have thought that it would be much busier, given what day it is. There are only a few people roaming around: a couple of women perched on a low wall, smoking, a few men in a group working their way down the pavement on the other side of the road, probably tourists. But then again, it _is_ relatively early still: around half eight.

Onceler walks past the snicket between the store and another building; a dark space occupied by a couple of dumpsters. He doesn't give it a second glance and just continues to think about the night sprawling ahead of him. And then a strong hand is on his arm, another clapped over his mouth, and he's being dragged against his own will into the darkness.

He licks and tires to bite the palm pressing into his lips, struggles against the fingers cutting into his forearm, but they doesn't let go. With his arm nearly being wrenched from it's socket, he finds himself pushed face first into the rough brick of a wall, and it grazes his cheek. His predator lets go of his arm and presses closer to him, trapping him with his own body, and Onceler discovers with terror that he is unable to shift the man off him – it is unmistakeably a man; the stale smug of alcohol and body odour fills his nose, and he can feel a hardness pressing against his rear as that hand with it's stocky fingers fumbles and rips at the waistband of his trousers.

A rough voice sounds in his ear, leering, 'I've been wanting you all week, lad...'

Onceler screams then, but it comes out muffled, and he has a split-second flashback to when he overlooked a similar commotion earlier on in the week, not too far from this exact spot. It is then that Onceler realises that he is going to be raped, and that there is _nothing_ he can do about it. This man is just too strong and his hands seem to be all over his body, preventing him from moving an inch... even if he _did _manage to attract a bystander's attention, they probably wouldn't even acknowledge the scuffle - just like he himself didn't.

Onceler again bites at the hand over his mouth and this time, his teeth make purchase. The hand is dropped, but before he can draw breath to shout, the unfamiliar but horrific cold edge of a knife is pressed against his throat. 'Scream, laddie, and you _will _spill blood. Understand?'

Onceler hiccups, his breaths coming in short snatches as his heart wildly beats fear into his muscles. He manages to nod his head, and the reply he gets is a rough thrust into his backside, the man's harsh metal zipper digging into his ass. With the motion, his hipbones snap forward into the hard wall and bruise as his shirt rides up his stomach. He tries not to cry out; tears spring to his eyes instead. He garbles out a mouthful of speech, choking and sobbing and trying not to cut himself against that rusty blade that nudges his adam's apple. '_Please_, I...I'll suck you off, j-just please _don't-'  
_  
His pants have been wrenched down to his thighs now, exposing his bare rear and the man is frantically undoing himself too, rutting against him with repulsive grunts. 'You strut around here in them fancy cloths... you've been _wanting_ this, you little slut.' A hand tangles in his hair and tugs his face around, and Onceler looks through terrified eyes into the sweaty, greasy-haired, malicious face of his assaulter. He grins, showing a handful of rotten teeth. 'But _I _got to have you first.'

In sheer panic now, Onceler bucks and attempts to struggle out of his restraints once more; he flings his head backwards on his neck in his efforts and his crown collides with something solid with a sickening _crack_, and the hands on his body are suddenly gone. The knife drops past his collarbone and clatters to the floor, and Onceler immediately wrenches up his trousers and stares on in amazement.

With one move, he seems to have both bust his captor's nose _and _delivered a harsh blow to the man's forehead. The guy is staggering around, hunched over and holding his head in both hands. After a second, he glances up and sees Onceler still standing there with wide eyes, and yells something unintelligible but highly aggressive at him, spewing blood. But it's not his words that worry Onceler – it's the way he suddenly lurches towards him, hands outstretched. Onceler takes off, feet pounding the hard stone ground as he sprints away faster than he ever has before.

Quite a few people stare at him as he passes, clutching his trousers desperately around his waist and half falling every few steps, eyes distant and petrified with his face paler than fresh snow. But he doesn't notice them. His only thoughts are to run, to flee; to get as far away as physically possible, running down roads he doesn't recognise and not paying attention to anything around him.

Onceler is a relatively healthy and fit young man, and manages to sprint a good half a mile before the realisation sets in that the stabbing pains in his chest might just be his lungs telling him to take a break. He keeps moving though, eyes darting and looking for greasy men with diabolical grins. Slowly, the pain returns to him and his hipbones start throbbing, followed by an insistent banging in his head that only intensifies with every heavy thud of step after step of his worn feet on the cold floor. Fear and adrenaline still thrums through his body, making him jumpy and causing him to flinch every time someone passes him.

After another short while, Onceler's heart rate begins to subside and he begins to recognise where he is, thankfully. He's in the part of town that he feels _much_ more familiar and safe in, and indeed, some of the workers that he sees look concerned try to stop him and ask after his wellbeing but he just shakes them off and continues his plodding forward, lost in a tangled mess of shock and horror. Unknowingly, he finds himself back at his old spot, for which he is thankful as he throws himself down on the familiar, rickety old bench. He had a feeling that if he didn't sit down soon, he might pass out.

He plonks down on the seat heavily, dropping his face into his hands. His digs his palms into his eyes until they hurt as if trying to push away the frightening thoughts and whispers that shoot across his mind. He'd just nearly got _raped. _Someone had come very close to taking away the one last part of himself he considered pure and untainted. Onceler can't focus on the positives right now – after all, he _did_ manage to get away. But he can only keep repeating to himself what _could_ have happened, feeling the chill settle in his bones, making him shiver violently on a warm summer evening.

A car's engine cuts through the humid air, making him jump. He keeps his head down in the hopes that maybe they'll just drive past. He is not in _any_ state for business tonight.

The thrumming gets louder and then halts right in front of him. _'Oh no,'_ he thinks, and curls into himself just that little bit more. Hopefully, they'll get the hint.

The door opens. Footsteps on the pavement, increasing in frequency. A tentative hand on his shoulder, close to his neck; one knuckle brushes the nape of his neck through his hair softly, ever so softly. And Onceler's eyes snap open. _Oh, hell no._

He recoils away from the touch and jumps to his feet, ready to run, and-

'My God, are you alright?'

Onceler snaps his head around and his eyes finally find purchase on those gleaming dress shoes , the pristine slacks, the over-extravagant emerald coat. Greedler's looking at him with concern and panic in his eyes, one slender hand still outstretched towards him. 'Onceler?'

'Go away!' Onceler explodes, his face red with anger and from struggling to keep his frayed emotions in check. He takes a deep breath through his nose, gritting his teeth and forcing his next words to be polite ones. 'I _really_ don't want to see _you_, right now.' He turns to walk in the opposite direction, but a small part of him wants to stay for reasons he's rather unsure of. For the past couple of weeks, every time he's been happily content has ended up with men taking advantage of him – and one of them is standing right in front of him. So why does he desperately want to forgive Greedler and forget all about his misdoings?

Greedler opens his mouth to say something, but abruptly closes it again. He doesn't look offended – just worried. His eyes are lacking in their usual brightness and glint, and are dull and sad. He nervously bites his bottom lip as they stand there, waiting for a noise to break in the quiet air, and it's such an innocent gesture that Onceler sighs and breaks down from his steely silence. With that uncertain look and those mournful eyes, it's very hard to believe that Greedler would ever have an incentive to hurt him.

Onceler raises one hand to his throbbing forehead, as if pressing his palm against it will cure his headache. 'Sorry. I... I just had a bad day.'

Greedler, sensing the all-clear, steps closer towards him. 'Why, what's happened?'

An echo of a leering grin flashes before his eyes, and the pain in his head intensifies. 'Nothing.'

Greedler walks even closer to him suddenly, terrified surprise on his face, and a velvet hard darts out to rest on his forearm. He gently moves his wrist out of the way, and Onceler's broken zipper and ripped waistband is revealed where he's having to hold up his pants. Greedler's voice is soft and controlled, but there's a hint of fear. 'Why are your clothes ripped? Did... did someone do this to you?'

Onceler's gaze drops to the ground, and he nods, slowly. The hand on his arm tightens and he glances upwards to see Greedler's face setting into an expression of deep rage and fury. Onceler backtracks quickly, but his tone is flat. 'Don't worry... it happens a lot. I'm fine... really.'

Greedler raises an eyebrow at him in disbelief. 'It should happen to _no one_. Especially not you.'

Onceler squints at this sudden display of chivalry. 'Wha-'

'Come on, get in the car. Let's get you cleaned up. You can stay with me tonight.'

Onceler wrenches his hand from his grasp. 'What? No!_ Fuck _no. You know I never get in the car!'

Greedler frowns. 'Don't you trust me?'

Onceler half dismisses the question; a tiny part of his brain continues to dwell on it. He _wants_ to trust Greedler, but based on his past actions, he's not sure if he can. But then again, Greedler had been half drunk at the time – and alcohol can do strange things to mens' behaviour, as Onceler well knows.

Greedler's still staring at him, obviously conflicted. 'You don't have to stay. You can leave as soon as you want to. I.. I just don't want to leave you without help, right now.'

That sweetens the deal a little for Onceler. He really could do with some aid – and some company – tonight... he knows that as soon as he's by himself again, the memories will return and he'll end up half mad and lacking sleep. He has been trying to get Greedler to leave – but he doesn't _want _to be alone. He coughs. 'Well...'

'Come on,' says Greedler, a little firmer this time. 'Come with me.'

And Onceler allows himself to be steered towards the back of the limo and he gets in, instinctively trying not to get any dirt from his shoes on the carpet. Greedler clambers in after him and shuts the door before motioning to the driver to set off, and Onceler shuffles along the seat that extra inch so that they aren't touching. He's as rigid as a board, too wound up and tense to notice the soft leather seats, the well-stocked drinks cabinet on one side, the roof lined with black velvet and little lights that twinkle like stars. His foot taps erratically on the floor in nervousness. Greedler stares forward in silence for the most part, snatching little, worried glances in Onceler's direction; they continue in this manner for about half an hour, travelling out of the urban city and into the countryside, until they pull into a set of high, extravagant gates.

Onceler stares out of the window, enraptured and waiting for his eyes to adjust to seeing the view through tinted windows. Trees and bushes of all kinds line the sides of the driveway they travel on, illuminated in a spectrum of green by the bright garden lights. And then they're stopping, and Greedler's clambering out and waiting on him with the door, like a footman. Onceler cautiously climbs out himself, and immediately loses his anxiety to the fantastical vision before him

The house is _huge_;_ m_uch too big for one person, or even two or three. Almost the entirety of the outside is glass and white stone and the pine wood doors are beautifully carved with patterns and spirals to remind Onceler of old architecture. It's modern and clear, yet intertwined with classy, aged elements of times passed, and it's _exactly_ the kind of environment Greedler would surround himself with.

Greedler takes his arm and leads him to the door, and it's not until they are inside that Onceler finds the breath to speak. 'This is your house?'

Greedler half smiles, nodding, before motioning to a middle-aged, round woman in a smart uniform hovering nearby. 'Mr Onceler requires some medical aid. Take him upstairs. I'll be there shortly.'

Greedler glances back at Onceler with a half smile, trying to reassure him as the maid guides him away and up the grand staircase which gleams white in the soft lighting from the many chandeliers that hand stationary from the high ceiling. Onceler walks up the stairs and chances a quick look back over his shoulder as they reach the balcony; Greedler is still watching him with concern, but he quickly averts his eyes and walks away when they make eye contact.

After a few questions on exactly what aid he requires, Onceler is quickly undressed down to his underwear and the wounds on his hipbones cleaned and dabbed with a cream that is cool on his skin at first, but burns like fire afterwards, and he has to clench his fists and bite his lower lip not to cry out. When the pain subsides, he's left alone to recline in an _extremely_ comfortable armchair in a small room that adjoins the bathroom he was treated in. The motherly maid who cared for him had said in a firm voice that she'd return with some clothes for him shortly, and that he was not to move. He'd not had any inclinations of wandering off (and he wouldn't have liked to disagree with her short but formidable form), but either way, Onceler finds his eyes drooping and his head resting against the chair's back. His breathing slows. Then quickens, as visions swim before his eyes of greasy, lank hair and lunatic eyes and diabolical grins an-

'How are you?'

Onceler jolts upwards, eyes wide and guilty. After seeing who it is, he instinctively fumbles with a cushion to place on his lap and hide his lack of clothing – it makes the corners of Greedler's mouth quirk upwards in a quick flicker of a smile. Blushing, Onceler replies with his eyes trained on the swirling carpet. 'I'm better. Thanks.'

'Good, good.' An awkward silence, then Greedler removes his hands from his pockets and starts forward towards him. 'Onceler, I-'

The maid appears back in the doorway, a neat pile of folded clothing in her arms. She takes in the scene for a moment – Greedler's outstretched hand, which quickly returns to his side; Onceler's attempts to disguise himself with the plush cushion and his clear embarrassment – but she continues with her efforts as normal. 'Here you are, Mr Onceler. Your own clothes with be cleaned and repaired and sent back to you.'

Onceler takes the clothing from her and thanks her gratefully. She walks sturdily back out of the room and leaves the two alone again, and Onceler shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze still directed downwards.

'I've turned around.'

Blue eyes dart upwards to see that Greedler has indeed turned his back, and although Onceler would much prefer him to be absent altogether whilst he dresses, he's a guest in this man's house. He doesn't have the right to complain. He gets up heavily.

He's sliding his arm into the sleeve of the cotton button-down when Greedler speaks again. 'I really think you should stay here tonight. I'd feel... it would be such _terrible _care of my guest to let you leave whilst you're injured. Whatever would the neighbours think?'

Onceler can hear the hint of a smile in his tone that masks the worry pulsing through. Greedler obviously doesn't want him to leave and has come on a last-shot appeal to him and try and get him to stay. For whatever reasons. But Onceler feels so _out of place_ in this big house, and he just can't seem to feel comfortable no matter how many luxuries are pushed his way. In a way, he feels guilty, and anxious that somehow his immoral being will taint the warm fibres of the armchair, or that his disgusting voice will poison this rich, business-class air. Maybe it's the world's view of people like _him_ that makes him think this way. Perhaps it's how he views _himself._

'Greedler, I can't-'

Greedler turns around quickly, making Onceler thank the heavens that he'd managed to finish dressing before he did so. Crossing the room in three short steps, Greedler tucks one finger under his chin and tilts his face up, and Onceler is so surprised by the gentle, soft, _intimate_ gesture that he merely stares with wide eyes. Stood next to him, face to face, Onceler discovers that Greedler's a good few inch taller than him. Which is quite a feat, considering that Onceler himself is around the six foot zone. The memory of Greedler kissing him probes at the back of his mind but he dismisses it, thinking that in all honestly, right now he wouldn't mind him doing it _again._ Or maybe that's just his tiredness muddling his thoughts.

'Please. Just... just stay until you're healed. We'll take care of you,' Greedler says, pleading, then adds, 'Not that you need taking care of.'

Onceler inhales deeply. Greedler smells of cologne and silk, along with the general musk of skin and sweat, and it's just a little bit intoxicating. He can't stop trying to drink it all in as he looks into those emerald eyes surrounded by dark fans of eyelashes. Onceler had always been taught to make eye contact when talking to someone, but he actually finds himself unable to look away. Greedler's eyes are so clear and pure up close, the bright muscles of his irises contracting and dilating as Greedler searches his face for any signs of recognition, of communication...

Onceler speaks, barely moving his mouth, barely daring to expel a breath with the man this close. 'I can stay... for a day or two.'

Greedler smiles and Onceler's gaze darts to his lips- but then the businessman is moving away, gesturing for the other to follow him out of the room. After berating himself for giving in so easily and so willingly, drawn in by that beautiful stare and unblemished skin, Onceler complies.

But if this is going to happen, it's going to be on his own terms. 'I'm only staying here until next week, though!' he calls out to Greedler as he catches up with him along the hallway. 'And I don't want special treatment.'

The man's coat tails finally stop swaying as Greedler stops in front of a door, turns to him and smirks. 'You're in _my_ house. I'll treat you however I want.'

One gloved hand turns the door handle and the other flits to Onceler's shoulders and pushes him forwards, gently. The room is spacious, like every other in the building, and floor-to-ceiling windows cover one wall, with a view to a huge chunk of land, dotted with trees and flowers and a paths that curves gently through the plants. Old fashioned lanterns are planted in and amongst the trees, and automatic sprinklers fling water over the grass.

'That's my back garden.'

Onceler throws a look of disbelief over his shoulder at Greedler, who's walked into the room with him and is now pressing a switch on the wall which causes flowing curtains to slowly cover the windows. With his initial point of interest being taken away from him, Onceler turns around and for the first time notices the grand double bed with the entwined-metal header which a dozen pillows are fluffed up against; the modestly outrageous matching dresser, wardrobe, desk, vanity table...

The carpet is soft and compressed under his feet as he walks to the bed whilst Greedler speaks. 'You'll be sleeping in here... I hope it's to your liking?'

Onceler throws himself onto the bed; the mattress bounces wildly under the assault and despite himself, he grins. 'Oh no. There's not _quite_ enough goose feather pillows on here.'

Greedler immediately looks towards the door and takes a breath to call one of his staff- but then the penny drops and he closes his eyes, smiling at his own gullible mistake. He claps his hands together, the sound somewhat quiet due to his gloves. 'Right then. I'm going to leave you now – but is there's anything you need, use that phone.' He points to the bedside table, but Onceler's gaze doesn't follow his outstretched finger, instead staying on the man himself. 'Just dial '0', and someone will be sent to you.'

He turns to leave and gets halfway to the door, his watch chain jangling in the silence, before Onceler speaks. 'Thank you,' he calls out, and Greedler looks back at him and smiles, before walking the last few yards out of the room and closing the door gently.

Onceler yawns, and suddenly realises how tired he is. Weariness has set in his bones without him even realising, and his muscles just don't seem to do his bidding. There's no point getting undressed again, so he simply shoves a few pillows off of the bed and burrows deep into the soft quilted comfort. Although he'd planned to think about what the next day might bring and how he was going to persuade Greedler to let him leave, his eyes close of their own accord, his mouth opens and soon enough he's snoring softly.


	3. Chapter 3

Leering grins and glinting scowls shoot through the darkness towards him, and Onceler's writhes under the assault, turning his head one way and then the other to try and escape the harsh, repellent grunts sounding in his ears. He struggles, trying to cry out through the hand clamped over his mouth, tears beading in his eyes. His waistband is wrenched at by sweaty hands with dirty, scrabbling nails, and Onceler wracks his body this way and that to try and escape but his captor is too strong, too powerful. The fingers covering his mouth crawl downwards to grip roughly at his crotch, and Onceler screams loudly; a high-pitched, paralysing scream-

His eyes snap open and he jumps bolt upright in bed. His entire body is shaking, his chest heaving with the hyperventilating breaths that shudder in his lungs. His heart pounds erratically in his chest, so hard that Onceler can feel every beat pulse through him like an electric shock.

There's a knock at the door, and a female voice shouts out, 'Are you alright in there, Sir?'

Onceler swallows hastily and calls back weakly, 'I-I'm fine.'

Soft footsteps as the woman retreats, and Onceler collapses back onto the mattress, attempting to breathe more normally. He was not prone to nightmares – even in his childhood years, he'd not suffered terror in the night at the hands of the monsters who lurked beneath his bed. But then again, he'd never experienced anything so terrifying as what had happened to him yesterday. His unconscious was obviously still feeding from the memory.

Although the digital clock on the phone next to him reads 9:27, it's almost pitch black in the room. Onceler swings his feet out of bed and unsteadily crosses to the wall, and fumbles for the switch. His fingertips dance across the paint until they find it, and he presses it eagerly. The curtains begin to open with a quiet whirring sound, and Onceler exhales slowly as light begins to fill the room.

When the curtains are fully open, Onceler pads over to the crystal clear glass and stands so close that he's almost pressing his nose against it, not caring about anyone looking up and seeing his bed head. There is a round, white-pillared balcony a little down and to the right of his window, obviously leading out from another grand room.  
The day is bright and the sky is a cheerful blue, and the leaves on the trees rustle in a slight breeze. It's a beautiful day, and it has a calming influence on him as he watches the two gardeners contentedly clip rose bushes and sweep grass cuttings from the path. One of them whistles as he works, bobbing his head from side to side, although Onceler can't hear the tunes through the thick glass.

Now much more relaxed, Onceler turns around and sees for the first time a surprise waiting for him. There is a small, glass topped table which resides next to a Chesterfield-style sofa, just by the wall opposite the bed. Resting on the sofa's arm is some fresh, clean clothes similar to what he is still wearing from the previous day. On top of the table is an elegant tray, upon which is laid a pristine white cloth bearing a light, but exquisite-looking breakfast; a couple of pastries, a glass of strawberries and a crystal flute filled with mouthwateringly clear orange juice.

He walks over and sits down gingerly on the sofa cushion, and notices an envelope propped up against the glass on the tray. His name is written on it in small, slanting handwriting. He flicks it open with his thumbnail and unfolds it with curiosity.

It reads:

_Dear Onceler,  
_

_I apologise for not being there with you this morning, but I must attend a business meeting. However, I shall hopefully return by noon.  
Please feel free to explore my house and gardens – but be aware that my staff have been told that you are not to leave the grounds without my permission. I'm sorry for this, but I really would not feel comfortable if you left before completely recovering._

_Greedler_

Onceler reads through it a couple of times, his blue gaze lingering on the loopy signature at the bottom. It's formal and restrained, just like the man himself, and Onceler appreciates how Greedler has acknowledged how he would be offended at being trapped in this place. It seems the businessman knows him better than Onceler originally thought – but the idea doesn't scare him, like how he normally feels when he fears he has given away too much of himself. He feels comforted that finally, someone seems to understand him.

After nibbling at the food that has been left for him, he has a shower in the en suite bathroom, marvelling at the contrast between the modern chrome taps and appliances, and the old-fashioned bath feet, engraved with leaves. The balance between old and new has been delicately struck once again in this classy room, and it feels perfect.  
Onceler is pleased to see that the broken wounds on his hipbones are looking a _lot_ cleaner and healthier; a layer of fresh, new skin is already forming across. The graze on his cheek is less inflamed. Although the bruises on his hips and the top of his thighs stare back at from from the mirror, dark aubergine against his pale skin, and Onceler wraps himself in a towel hastily and rushes to get dressed.

His own scuffed boots look ridiculous and out of place with the smart, sharp slacks and painstakingly ironed shirt that he's borrowing, but there's nothing he can do about that. Just as he himself feels like an intruder in this house – but he can't leave. He can't escape back to the place where he feels more assured and in control, where he can fit in with the other lowlifes and where the people around him don't bat an eyelid.

-which is more than can be said for the people in this building. The staff are polite to him, but he can feel their stares on his back and almost hear their prejudiced opinions whispering through the air. They probably think that he's their boss's pet - his boy toy. He doesn't know how old Greedler is exactly, but his features are more set and defined than his own, placing him firmly into an area of his early twenties. It seems an era away from Onceler's own age of nineteen.

After wandering aimlessly around the second floor of the house for a while, feeling more and more suppressed and out of place by the minute, Onceler dashes down the gleaming staircase he came in by and bursts out of the front doors.

As soon as he's outside and the cool air hits his face, he immediately feels _much_ better. Breathing deeply, he closes the door behind him and skips down the front steps. His feet take him forward as he looks around, and he puts his hands in his pockets to appear nonchalant. For there is a stocky man in a dark suit and earpiece stood by the high gates, watching him. If Onceler had any plans about making a break for it, they swiftly vanished. Not that he would want to. Although it would grant him his freedom, running away would also disappoint Greedler. And he doesn't want that.

He cruises languidly around the side of the building and finds the entrance to the gardens he saw from his window through another metal gate, the brass prongs bent into curves and spirals. Onceler lifts the latch and dashes forward excitedly, finding innocent happiness in the warmth of the sun and the lush green foliage.

He wanders. The crazy-paved path is trailing and meandering and has no real direction, and that suits Onceler just fine. He is content to just enjoy the peacefulness that he hasn't really experienced since he was a kid, sat on the swing set in the local park area, thinking up ideas and inventions that would change the world.

He comes across a bench and sits down on it, undoing the second button of his shirt and rolling up the sleeves. It's getting close to lunchtime now, he supposes from the sun's high position in the sky - Onceler leans back and lets the light shine on his face, dappled from the leaves above. He links his hands behind his neck and breathes in deeply, inhaling the clear air and faint tang of plant sap and floral notes from the flowers. A butterfly flutters past his vision, red and black and graceful.

He sits there for longer than he expected; he's more relaxed than he's been for _years_, and he simply does not want to move and lose that contentment. It's almost a surprise when he feels a shadow come over him, and he opens his eyes lazily to see Greedler standing in front of him with folded arms, smiling fondly and silhouetted in front of the sun. Onceler straightens up and flashes a quick grin back before he can stop himself, still intoxicated with utter happiness.

Greedler sits down next to him and says, 'Enjoying yourself?'

Onceler is very slightly miffed to be found in such a vulnerable state of bliss – usually, he tries to act strong and tough to prevent any danger coming to him. But nothing bad could come to him here, right now. He decides to be blunt. 'Yep. This 'back garden' is _amazing_. I could spend all day here.'

His stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly, and he laughs. 'I am a bit hungry though.'

Greedler chuckles, and Onceler turns to face him properly. He's lacking the heavy emerald coat due to the temperature of the day, and instead wears a simple but pristine white button down and a dark forest green tie. The gloves are still there though. He's clean shaven, as opposed to the dark shadow Onceler is used to seeing, and his hair is not loose; his fringe is slicked back and to the side, and it sets off his cheekbones and eyebrows. He looks very professional, full of power and control, and it's a look that Onceler can't help but find appealing.

'I'm glad that you're a bit happier now,' Greedler says with warmth in his eyes, and continues. 'You know, you are welcome to stay here for longer than the weekend.'

Onceler's lips press together. He's never liked having to make on-the-spot decisions. 'I can't intrude on you for any longer-'

Greedler cuts him off, gesticulating with one gloved hand. 'No, you're not intruding! I'm perfectly fine with having you here.' He coughs. 'I- I would be very happy for you to stay here for as long as you like.'

Onceler draws a breath, but falls silent as Greedler's last comment echoes in his ears. _What exactly did _that _mean?_ 'As long as he liked'... well, in all actuality, he would be quite complacent with leaving right there and then. But leaving would mean being alone once more; having to return to the dark practicalities and responsibilities of his life; distancing himself from this luxury house and its handsome owner...

Greedler's bright green eyes bore into him as the man waits expectantly for a reply. Onceler doesn't give him one – only shuffles that little bit closer to him so that their thighs touch. Choosing to forget about all of his walls and barriers, he leans gently against Greedler's, resting his head on his shoulder. Then, just as he knew it would, a tentative velvet arm moves to embrace him and Onceler nuzzles into Greedler like this was something he did every day. In actual fact, his own heart is beating just as quickly as the one he can hear thudding through Greedler's chest.

And just as before, Onceler closes his eyes and loses all track of time.

* * *

He's woken from his half sleep by a buzzing sound that reverberates through him and jolts his senses back to life. He notices a pulling sensation on his scalp, and suddenly realises that Greedler's soft, gloved fingertips are gently smoothing and brushing through his hair. But they soon disappear as Greedler reaches into his pocket, and as Onceler straightens up and stretches, he is left to wonder if those tender touches were real or imagined.

Pulling out a small pager, Greedler glances at it before putting it back in his pocket and getting to his feet. For a second, Onceler thinks he's just going to leave him still sat there. However the businessman turns and smiles at him, inclining his head for him to follow. 'Come on,' he says merrily, seemingly unable to keep the grin off his face. 'Dinner's ready.'

Onceler stands up, shoves his hands in his pockets and sets off to walk side by side with Greedler back along the path to the house. He must have been out of it for a while; it's now early evening and the sun is descending steadily. The sound of crickets fills his ears.

The both of them stay quiet, but it's a comfortable silence, full of contentment and satisfaction and peace. He doesn't know if Greedler notices the way he looks back at the man from time to time, marvelling at the strong nose and chin of his profile, half illuminated by the sun. But Onceler sure notices Greedler's quick, stolen glances in _his_ direction.

The air is a lot cooler now, and Onceler rolls his sleeves down and re-buttons the cuffs as they walk. He notices Greedler loosening and pulling off his tie. He folds it up and placing it in the pocket of his slacks with one hand, and undoes a couple of shirt buttons. It makes Onceler smirk; now they're wearing practically the same outfit. Except Greedler doesn't look quite so uncomfortable in his.

When they're once again inside the house, Onceler raises his eyebrows at Greedler expectantly and gestures to his clothes. 'Should I... go and change?'

Greedler flaps a dismissive hand. 'Don't bother. It's just me who will be accompanying you, anyway.' He looked towards the double doors in the left wall of the foyer; they were open, and the old butler standing in front of them caught his eye and nodded curtly. Greedler turned back to Onceler, and asked pleasantly, 'Join me?'

Onceler smiled and took the arm offered to him. The velvet was comfortingly soft beneath his fingertips as he held Greedler's forearm in a relaxed grip, and the businessman's sharp scent invaded his senses once more as they walked together. Surprisingly, although the line between 'polite' and 'flirtatious' was fading and blurring with every new gentlemanly gesture of Greedler's, Onceler couldn't help but _enjoy_ all the attention. For once, he was being treated as if he had some _worth._ Plus, his stomach flipped every time those green eyes met his, every time those full lips quirked into a grin. However, that may just have been his hunger.

Greedler led him through the doors into a grand dining room, dimly lit with cozy lighting that made the glasses and cutlery on the table gleam and twinkle. Two places had been set opposite each other at the far right end of the table, although it was surely big enough to seat twenty, or even more. The warm smells of freshly-cooked food filled the air, and Onceler inhaled deeply, drinking it in. Greedler noticed his blissful sniffing and smiled to himself.

And as if his courtesy wasn't enough, Greedler actually pulled out Onceler's chair for him too, making sure he was settled before quickly striding round to his own and sitting down himself. Onceler blushed, and distracted himself from the other's intense gaze by taking great concentration in folding his napkin on his lap. _Everything_ about Greedler was intense. His unblinking, emotional stares; his deep, controlled voice; his purposeful walk. It frequently made Onceler a little overwhelmed.

The delicacies are rich and full, and despite his ravenous hunger, Onceler finds that he can only eat a modest meal before he begins to feel, once again, overwhelmed. He feels a little guilty about the waste of such beautifully prepared food, but his mind is being stimulated so much by the constant chatter from his companion that he hardly thinks about anything but Greedler. They talk easily, just as they used to do when Greedler would meet him in the street – it makes Onceler remember that stolen kiss, but he looks back on it with curiosity. It is beginning to seem that Greedler likes him more than he probably should do; although he is quite reserved now with his speech and actions, the alcohol might just have liberated his sense of constraint. Perhaps right _now_, Greedler would like to kiss him once more, and it is only his alert, sober state that is holding him back. Blue eyes flicker to watch the intriguing businessman; Greedler catches his gaze and smiles warmly, the joy plain on his face and his eyes sparkling with passion.

Well. That is certainly not the type of look a friend gives a friend.

They chat freely, and this time, Onceler is less scared of revealing facts about his past and his family. He tells Greedler about how his brothers would scorn his 'feminine' habits such as knitting and sketching, and tease him without mercy. His mother was no better, and frequently expressed her disappointment in how he didn't quite fit her perfect mould.

'She would hate to see me now,' says Onceler flatly, looking into the swirling vermilion liquid in the wide glass that he's twirling absent-mindedly in the crooks of his fingers. 'I'd disgrace her. Not only because I'm a disgusting lowlife, but because I'm about as straight as a slinky. The ultimate sin, in her eyes.'

A couple of seconds' silence, then Greedler speaks. 'You're not a lowlife. You're just in an unfortunate situation. But... I'm certain that good things will come your way.'

Onceler glances upwards, but for once Greedler is not looking at him. He's smiling at the tablecloth; a shy, secret smile, like he knows something Onceler doesn't. But Onceler doesn't push it.

After a while, Greedler stands gracefully and inclines his head in a gesture reminiscent of a bow. 'Thank you for eating with me. Now, I'm going to be on my balcony, having a drink; you're very welcome to join me.'

Onceler gets to his feet as well. 'I'm fine. I think I'll just keep to myself for a bit. And... thank you.'

Greedler, ever the gentleman, nods and acknowledges his gratitude before walking away from him and leaving Onceler alone. Onceler puts his hands to his cheeks; they're warm and he _must_ be blushing, so he quickly exits the room and dashes out into the cooler foyer. His arrival gains the attention of another young maid who is pottering about with a feather duster, who stares at him as he dashes up the staircase.

Soon enough, he's back in 'his' bedroom, and collapsing onto 'his' sofa. The room has been thoroughly cleaned, and Onceler gets that feeling of invasion, of a lack of privacy. He almost gets the impression that the staff were in here furiously purging the room of the very essence of the male escort that dared poison their valuable air...

Onceler jumps to his feet and darts to the window, needing to regain a sense of calm before his paranoid mind gets the better of him. The gardens look even more beautiful at night, somehow, with the fireflies flickering through the trees, the scuffle of some woodland mammal darting beneath the shrubbery. And down and to the right, the balcony he'd seen earlier – but now, with an additional Greedler, sitting on a metal garden chair, facing out towards the forest of green below with another glass of wine in his hand. The crimson contrasts against the emerald of his gloves. Even alone, the man looks professional and assured; _regal_,even – his back is straight and his expression neutral as he relaxes.

Onceler suddenly realises that he must look like quite the stalker, what with his hands and nose pressed up against the pane of glass. But this room, even through all it's space, is suffocating him; he feels more alone than ever and being able to see Greedler _just_ out of his reach makes it even worse. More than anything, he wants to be _with_ him, on that balcony, talking and laughing and enjoying his company. But he can't.

Can't he?

_'Now, I'm going to be on my balcony, having a drink; you're very welcome to join me.'_

Within seconds, Onceler is outside of his door, in the hallway, down a flight of stairs. He lurches to the right and nearly runs into a young man in a waistcoat, obviously one of the staff. The man stares at him in disgust, but Onceler doesn't care and simply detaches himself and brushes off his arm. 'Could you tell me where Greedler is, please?' he asks sweetly.

'He should be in there', is the begrudged reply, accompanied by a pointing finger towards a door about three paces away down the hall. Onceler sets towards it, throwing a 'thank you!'over his shoulder as afterthought. When he reaches the door however, the nerves begin to set in. His heart is pounding in his chest and his hand shakes as he raises it to knock on the door. What if it had just been an empty invitation, devoid of sincerity?

He knocks before he can think about it too much. After the third sharp rap on the smooth wood, Onceler hears footsteps on carpet making their way closer to where he stands. The ornate door handle turns, the door swings open and he is suddenly faced with Greedler, whose expression turns from stern to joyful the moment their eyes meet. 'Onceler! Is anything wrong?'

'Hi... yeah...' Onceler breathes intelligently, his mouth curving into a smile. Then he pulls himself together. 'I mean- no, nothing's wrong. I just.. uh...'

'Well, you're here now,' says Greedler, turning to the side to let him in with a grand sweep of his arm. 'Won't you join me?'

Onceler immediately stops stuttering and beams up at him. 'I'd love to.'

He walks past Greedler, not especially trying not to let their shoulders brush as he passes, and a small spike of uncertainty rises again. He's standing in the middle of Greedler's _bedroom._ Sure, it's clean and immaculately tidy just like every other room in the house, but Onceler feels even more than usual that he's intruding and shouldn't be there. This is a _private _room; who knows what has gone on in there.

But then Greedler beckons him forward and swiftly leads the way past the oversized bed and out onto the balcony through a sliding glass door, where floaty, translucent curtains waft in the slight breeze. Onceler tried not to be too nosy when he was walking through the room as to respect the other's privacy – although Greedler seemed to be quite at ease with having him there – but he couldn't help noticing the thick, fluffy moss green rug that they'd crossed at the foot of the bed. He'd looked down when the change in floor sturdiness had become apparent, and had happened to see that Greedler was padding around in just socks as opposed to the pristine leather dress shoes that Onceler had grown accustomed to seeing him wear.

As he sits down in the surprisingly comfy garden chair on the balcony, he glances downwards again and confirmed his belief. It was rather humorous, somehow, seeing such a powerful man in diamond-patterned socks. It humanised him, made the atmosphere _much_ less formal - and Onceler instantly felt the weight of self-uncertainty leave him. Every time they had been in each other's company, Greedler had had the influence of making him feel like he had a _right_ to be there. It was a pleasant change to what Onceler was used to.  
Greedler moves his chair to be a little closer to him and then flops down onto the padded seat, letting out a happy sigh. 'Wine?'

Onceler accepts the offer with pleasure.

Fifteen minutes pass in peaceful silence beneath the inky black sky, lined with twinkling stars. Onceler has found that Greedler only speaks when he has something he believes is worth saying – which suits him perfectly, as he follows the same rules. And so, when Onceler speaks after a while, he is being utterly genuine.

'Thank you for letting me stay here.. and everything. It's really nice. And... I don't see how I could ever repay you. I can't offer you anything... you already have everything you want!' The last part is said through a teasing grin at an attempt to skim over the seriousness of his gratitude, and the light giggle comes easily to him, especially as the three-and-a-half glasses of wine he's consumed are already making his head light and fuzzy. He usually doesn't drink so much, but Onceler simply wants to forget about his life for the night and drink in contentment with a kind friend beside him. Plus, the expensive, imported wine is _delicious._

Greedler sets his empty glass down onto the mosaic table and replies without looking at him, 'I don't have _everything_ I want.' Onceler's eyes dart upwards at the strange comment, but Greedler continues before he can put too much thought to it. 'Besides, you don't need to repay me!' he says, folding one leg over the other. 'Having you around is a plentiful reward.'

And Onceler can't help it – he raises an eyebrow and smirks. 'That was incredibly smooth.'

Greedler chuckles, a low, rumbly sound that Onceler loves to hear. 'Why, thank you. So. Was everything okay for you last night? One of the maids told me that she heard sounds of distress coming from your room in the night – if you don't mind me asking..?'

Onceler's gaze snaps to the white tile. 'I was alright. The room and everything was _great_... I just didn't sleep very well.'

He looks back up to Greedler, whose eyes are full of worry. 'Is there anything I can do?'

Onceler sighs. He can't very well ask Greedler to erase his memories. He's actually dreading going to sleep when the time comes, because he knows that those horrific visions will haunt him again the second he closes his eyes. He had just felt so _alone_ the previous night; by himself in that spacious room in the middle of an oversized bed. There had been no one around to call for when the visions got too much; he'd just had to endure them, waking up in cold sweats countless times in the night.

Onceler slumps to the side, resting his head on Greedler's shoulder. 'Well... I felt quite lonely last night. Everything was so quiet... I'm used to the city noise.'

Greedler offers no reply other than a simple 'hmm' sound, although he does shift to tilt his head against Onceler's.

A combination of alcohol, tiredness, and Greedler's obvious suppressed reactions every time he gets a little bit closer makes Onceler bold, and he decides to ask straight out for what he wants instead of darting around the subject. 'Greed,' he says, using a nickname he'd made up just seconds before. 'I was wondering if I could stay in here, tonight. I- I mean I'd feel a lot better if I wasn't alone.'

A couple of seconds pass in silence, in which Greedler's breathing rate increases _ever_ so slightly. His voice has a subtle tremor to it. 'Yes. Yes, of course you can. Um. I don't have a second bed in here though. You'd have to share with me – I'm not having you sleeping on the couch.'

Onceler smiles to himself. 'Thank you,' he says quietly, and moves his hand to where Greedler's own rests on his thigh, and intertwines the gloved fingers in his own. And just as he expected, Greedler doesn't pull away. The air is steadily becoming too chilly to withstand, but neither of them acknowledge it.

'Onceler?'

'Yes?'

'Can I ask- what was your invention? The one you told me about.'

Onceler blushes. He's a little tentative to reveal the secrets of his life changing idea, mostly because it wasn't _that_ revolutionary. 'It was called... a 'Thneed'. I knitted one once and it worked perfectly... before my brothers got hold of it and tore it to pieces in scorn. It could be used for anything. It could be used for clothing, for cleaning, for a towel, for a hammock, for pulling things... basically anything.'

Greedler whistles. 'That is one hell of a product.'

Onceler raises an eyebrow. He wouldn't have expected a curse word to slip those well-spoken lips. Sure, it wasn't particularly obscene, but still. However – for the past hour or so, Greedler's behaviour has been steadily declining into a much less informal manner. It's reassuring.

Greedler looks down at him, having to crane his neck a little. 'So, what happened? Why didn't it sell?'

Onceler half smiles at the simplicity of the answer. 'It wasn't very good. No one wanted it.'

'What? It sounds good enough to me. Honestly, people will buy anything if you sell it to them the right way.'

Curling in towards Greedler a little more, Onceler hums in appreciation of the surprise life lesson. He lets out a small yawn. 'That reminds me- you never told me what _your _company is.'

Greedler laughs. 'I deal in clothing. I own a chain of high-prestige stores, and our clothing is always at shows and runways. I don't design the clothing; I just manage the accounts and public affairs and advertising and such. I have multiple designers working for me who come up with all the new ideas.' He stops talking to emit another small chuckle. 'It's funny you should ask though. Those clothes that you bought the other day... I recognised them as our old winter designs. Tell me, Onceler – what did you think of my shop?'

Onceler sits upright to see Greedler smirking at him, the smugness all too apparent in his handsome features. Raising an eyebrow in disbelief, Onceler sits bolt upright. 'You're kidding.'

'Not at all.'

'Well.' Onceler leans in close to whisper in his ear, and feels Greedler's breath hitch. 'You might wanna work on your staff recruitment in the city branch. _Far_ too snobbish.'

Greedler smiles. 'I'm making a mental note as we speak.'

Onceler leans onto his shoulder again, and where their hands are clasped, the pad of Greedler's thumb rubs small circles on the back of his palm. It's comforting, and Onceler finds his breathing slowing and his eyes closing. 'I'm tired,' he murmurs.

Greedler stands up gently, pulling him up beside him. 'Come on,' he says softly, leading him off the balcony and back into the warm room. He slides the glass door shut and closes the curtains, and there is enough low lighting from a table lamp to show the way to the bed. Onceler stumbles towards it and falls down face first into the mound of pillows.

Greedler makes a half-hearted attempt to change into his pyjamas, but only gets as far as removing his shirt before giving up. He's too weary, and besides - he doesn't think Onceler is going to care much either way if he's in appropriate sleep attire or not. The kid is already half asleep.

He walks over to where Onceler is lying down and eases off his boots, placing them neatly in a pair at the side of the bed, before padding round to the other side and clambering underneath the sheets. As soon as he's settled, Onceler's gangly body snuggles up to his, one slender arm draping across his chest. Greedler tenses at the unexpected affection, but soon relaxes and wriggles his forearm behind the other's neck. He's going to have a dead arm in the morning, but it will be worth it.


	4. Chapter 4

Blue eyes flicker open. There's an unfamiliar warmth and weight of an arm draped across his waist and another's body close to his, and Onceler automatically squeaks and flinches away, making the bedsheets rustle as he quickly turns over to face his persecutor.

'Hmmn...?'

Onceler exhales a deep breath of relief as he watches Greedler open his eyes slowly, furrowing his brow against the bright sunlight streaming through the translucent curtains. He shuffles closer once again, and Greedler's arms happily embrace him. Onceler grins sheepishly. 'Sorry.'

Greedler yawns deeply, resting his chin on top of the other's head. His voice is gruff from sleep. 'S'alright.'

Onceler nuzzles into his bare chest, uncaring of social restrictions that normally wouldn't allow him to do so. Pressed against Greedler like this, enclosed by his arms, he feels unusually secure and safe – and maybe even _loved_. He raises a hand to stroke up Greedler's back, the smooth skin of his shoulder blade and the nape of his neck. The prickly stubble along his jawline tickles his fingertips. Inhaling the deep, elegant musk that he's steadily growing to recognise, Onceler smiles to himself.

They stay like that for a while, too comfortable and warm and sleepy to move, until the recognisable beeping of an alarm breaks the contented silence. Greedler moves in bed and reaches up to fumble at the bedside table to cancel the alarm, then gently disentangles himself from Onceler. Greedler gets up and stretches, and tired blue eyes unashamedly fixate on the way his back muscles shift beneath the lightly tanned skin; the trim waist and hips that dip beneath the dark slacks from the night before, crumpled and creased through a night of sleep.

'I'm going to be out until the afternoon again; do you think you'll be able to entertain yourself?' Greedler asks, turning to face him with a lazy smile.

'Yeah. I'm sure I'll find something to do,' is the reply, half muffled through a mouthful of pillow as Onceler fights to sit upright. He watches as Greedler pads into his bathroom; just before the door closes, he shoots one last glance at him through those intense green eyes, and Onceler's stomach flips. He snuggles back down into the soft, cushion-y fabric that encases him, delighting in the glowing, happy feelings pulsing through his body. His mind had not been tortured with manic, horrific visions last night – he'd slept happy and well, comforted in the arms of the most handsome man he's ever met.

And the sun was bright and cheerful outside, he had no responsibilities to keep whatsoever except to prepare himself for another lazy evening of chatter and subtle flirting – the only thing was that, of course, today was his last day to spend there, and Monday loomed with the promise of disappointment, misery, and making a quick buck or two in a dark backstreet. But he'd trespassed in this house for too long already; he _couldn't_ stay, no matter how much either of them might have wanted it.

By the time Greedler re-emerges into the room, Onceler's gone. He didn't want to know how he might react to seeing the other half dressed, hair and skin glistening with water, his eyes glinting and full of life. It would only make leaving more difficult.

He spends the day drifting about in a daze, unsure of what to do, uncertain of how to spend his time. He plans to go out to the garden again after he's dressed, but just as he reaches the bottom of the staircase a plump hand reaches out to his shoulder and he finds himself face to face with the motherly maid who had attended to his wounds on his first night there. She steers him towards the kitchen, refusing to listen to his protests, and sits him down at a small table, pointedly pushing a round of buttered toast and a mug of coffee towards him. She talks easily and asks questions as she tidies and cleans, and Onceler tries to answer as truthfully as possible as he looks around. Even the _kitchen_ is this house is grand and spotless. It's not quite an industrial, restaurant kitchen like what he remembers from a short-lived part time job he had as a teen, but every surface is stacked with high tech devices and gadgets – although he's fondly amused by the existence of satirical magnets that are dotted around on the huge fridge door.

'How exactly was it that you met Mr Greedler?'

Onceler takes a long drag of coffee and swirls it in his mouth, stalling for time. 'Uh. Well... the thing is...'

She stops wiping down the worktop and turns to him with her hand on her hip and a firm look, and Onceler immediately feels compelled to be honest. He's never been very good at lying, anyway.

He fixes his gaze on the table in front of him, following the patterns of the wood grain. 'I'm- I work as an... escort. I met him... a few weeks ago, when I-' He coughs. '-_serviced_ him, and he paid me.'

He glances up nervously, but she doesn't look disgusted, or pitying, like he would have thought. She looks indifferent, as if they were simply discussing the weather. 'A couple of weeks ago, you say? And did you meet him again, a few times?'

Onceler nods, half confused and half relieved that she's accepting who he is so easily. 'Yeah. But just to talk though! I mean... he just wanted to talk to me.'

'Aha!' she exclaims, grinning and turning back to her work. 'I knew it! I _wondered_ why he'd been looking so happy, recently. He's usually miserable.'

Onceler stays quiet, then says, 'He doesn't seem miserable when he's talking to me.'

She laughs. 'Well, why do you suppose _that_ is?'

* * *

The motherly housemaid (her name is Ellen) suggests he visit the library, and Onceler, who has always loved reading, agrees with the utmost enthusiasm. Not only will he be able to waste away the hours lost in another's world and forget about everything for a while, but he might also be able to obtain little titbits about what interests Greedler. It would give him a bit more ammunition for the later night's inevitable chatting.

He is pointed towards the top floor by everyone whom he asks for directions. He finally finds the right door, which is made of glass and embellished with shining chrome; it slides sideways smoothly as he approaches and Onceler steps through into a richly furnished, delightfully quaint old-fashioned library. The entire curved ceiling is thick glass through which shafts of sunlight gently shine. An upper balcony runs around the entirety of the circular room, and those wheeled ladders that he'd seen in films are attached to the magnificent aged-oak shelves, which are carved into intricate swirls at each interval along the very tops. Large, thick books stand sturdy on the lower shelves and the most minuscule short novels linger at the very top, barely in sight.

Lost in the marvellous sight, Onceler simply gazes up and around him for a few minutes before his neck starts to ache and he returns his gaze to eye level again, slightly dizzy. A desk stands in the middle of the room upon which is a modern, slimline laptop, and he goes to it uncertainly. A few taps on the touch-pad and the screen flickers to life, displaying a neat digital catalogue of the books. Fifteen minutes later, Onceler is happily curled up in one of the squashy beanbags in the centre of the room, legs folded beneath him and delving ever deeper into the world of Bennet and Darcy.

A few hours later around mid-afternoon, he leaves the library, taking the book with him, and goes in search of a change of pace and some fresh air. He finds both, in the form of Greedler ascending the front steps to the house just as Onceler approaches the doorway.

'Hi.'

Greedler looks up and comes to a standstill at the top of the steps, smiling broadly. 'Hello. Are you alright?'

Onceler smirks. 'You look _ever_ so businesslike,' he says, motioning to Greedler's briefcase and sharply ironed suit.

After staring speechless for a couple of seconds (and with his cheeks colouring just a little bit), Greedler finally discovers how to formulate words again. He looks pointedly at the book that Onceler's loosely holding at his side. 'I had suspected you were one for romance. It seems I am correct.'

Then, it's Onceler's turn to blush.

After dinner, Greedler invites him for a drink again and Onceler walks with him to his room this time, fingertips subtly stroking the velvet as he hangs onto that gloved arm. They talk on the balcony, the two chairs pushed together to make a double seat, Greedler's forearm gently resting along the back of Onceler's chair. The breeze is slow moving and carries the smell of freshly-cut grass.

'You said that you would leave tomorrow.'

'Indeed I did,' Onceler sighs, and says nothing more.

'I.. wish you wouldn't.'

'So do I.'

Greedler's eyes find his in the moonlight, sparkly from alcohol and emotion. 'Will you stay for a while longer? I-I can have your belongings brought here from wherever they are if it would make you feel more comfortable.'

Onceler curls into his chest, looking over the balcony to the mass of dulled colour below, hazy in the moonlight. 'That would be lovely.'

After a couple of seconds, Greedler rests his cheek on the top of Onceler's head. 'So, you'll stay? I mean I'm not just trying to be _charitable_ or anything-'

'Oh! No, I know you're not. I like it here. I like spending time with you somewhere that isn't a dirty back alleyway of a grimy district. I love these evenings we have together.'

A pause, in which Onceler can feel Greedler practically radiating happiness. 'I enjoy them too.' He hums a short melody, content. 'Did you sleep better last night, anyway?'

'_Much_ better. But I hope I didn't keep you awake...?'

Greedler makes a small 'humph' sound.

Sitting upright again, Onceler smirks and thumps him lightly on the arm 'Well, I'm _sorry_ I'm just too _distracting_ for you.'

And if he'd still been looking out onto the spacious garden, he might not have noticed Greedler's wan smile and the way his cheekbones flushed a light pink – but as it were, Onceler did indeed see the other's reaction, and felt his heart glow in response. Greedler is always surprising him; he would have thought that a businessman would be strong and poker-faced, but in reality, he can read Greedler like an open book.

They sleep together again that night, in the most innocent sense of the word, and Onceler makes certain that Greedler's breathing is steady and his muscles are unmoving before allowing himself to fall asleep.

* * *

The next morning, there are no flinches when he wakes, but there is a rather unpleasant surprise; Greedler has already left and Onceler finds himself alone in the mess of rich cotton sheets. That day he returns to the library, dipping in and out of a good number of books like they are sweet delicacies to be savoured. So lost in fiction and fact is the young man that he barely registers the path of the sun across the high glass ceiling and it is only when the sky is reddening and his eyes are straining to follow the inked texts that he realises the time.

'Greedler is usually here by now,' he says to himself, his voice cracking a little from under use, and places the novel to one side and gets to his feet stiffly. He meanders back down to the ground floor of the house, a little unsure of what to do with himself; he looks so lost that one of the staff gently directs him to the dining room in which he usually eats with Greedler, and arranges to have some food prepared for him. On cue, Onceler's stomach growls loudly, so there's no use protesting.

The man arrives just as he's picking at the last of his main. Entering the room swiftly, crossing the room in five paces and pulling out his own chair with a flourish, Greedler enters the room with drama and apologises instantly. 'I'm sorry I'm late. I was attending to an important deal.'

'It's fine.' Onceler glances upwards at him, then does a double take; Greedler seems to be filled with nervous energy and is barely able to sit still, hardly capable of keeping the bright grin off his face.

The kitchen door swings open and a steaming plate of food is brought and set before Greedler, but neither of them really pay much attention. Onceler frowns. 'Are you alright?'

Greedler takes a deep breath and places his elbows on the table, gloved fingers forming an intricate steeple, and he looks just so serious and businesslike that Onceler feels utterly compelled to give him his full attention. 'I made a very successful presentation today. A sales pitch, to be exact. I managed to persuade a couple of our long time buyers to invest in an entirely new product.'

Onceler is a teensy bit bewildered by all of the specialised terms, but nods enthusiastically. 'That's good!'

'The transactions haven't been finalised yet, obviously. I always make sure I can pull out if things get nasty. And, both of them want to meet with the actual inventor of the product, and see a prototype-'

Having zoned out a little, azure eyes wandering over the angles and lines of Greedler's roughly handsome face, Onceler's attention is suddenly snatched back again by the other's next words.

'-which is where _you_ come in.'

'Me?'

Greedler's eyes are sparkling with excitement. 'My efforts today have been trying to ensure a place on the market for your Thneed. How would you feel about mass producing and selling it?'

He's met with a stunned silence, and hastily adds, 'There's still time to say 'no'.'

Onceler's brow is furrowed as he tries to contemplate the barrage of information that has been thrown at him. Greedler had taken, without permission, the plans and idea that _he_ had come up with and tried to sell them. Although it was unlikely that he was doing it just to prove how much better of a businessman he was, Onceler still can't help feeling a little irritated at the invasion of his privacy.

However, the man had done all this for _him. _He'd listened to Onceler's tale of regrets and bad decisions, and had decided to try and help him accomplish something he was around ninety per cent sure he wanted. And sure enough, had loyally handed back the reins to Onceler himself when things got serious and potential buyers started appearing. In a way, he should be feeling _thankful_ that Greedler had done all the_ difficult _stuff.

This could be a new turn in his life. If this invention of his actually took off, well... there would be no more sitting by the side of the road, that's for sure.

There's just one more question: does he really want this...?

The chair legs scrape against the polished floorboards as Onceler shoves back his chair, strides around to the other side of the table and flings his arms around Greedler's neck, falling into his waiting embrace. 'Thank you,' he whispers into the businessman's collar, and he feels Greedler's smile against his own cheek.

'I'll take that as a 'yes', then.'

* * *

Later, they're toasting the success when Greedler suddenly gets up from his chair on the balcony and disappears inside his room for a moment. Onceler doesn't mind – it gives him time to sort out all of his jumbled, excited thoughts about the future. It's a little too much to take in, frankly.

Slow, jazzy melodies start to enhance the dusky summer air, and Greedler reappears on the balcony and tugs on Onceler's hand, pulling him to his feet. Then he's quickly pushing the table and chairs to the side, shrugging off his jacket and flinging it onto a chair, then turning back to Onceler with a bright smile.

'Dance with me?' he asks, and Onceler obliges to slip his fingers into that beckoning hand. His other hand goes instinctively to Greedler's shoulder as he is pulled towards him. Onceler has never danced before, but he knows the theory; soon enough, they are stepping in fluent circles of quick-quick-slow all across the tiled balcony, and Greedler's emerald gaze has never left his the entire time.

'Would you like to meet my most valued customers tomorrow, and maybe show them your product?'

'I- I just can't believe they though it was _good_.'

Greedler smiles, teeth white and even. 'I told you. You can sell anything to anyone if you know how to do it. And that comes with practise. I'm sure you're going to be an excellent persuader.'

Onceler steps a little closer to Greedler, just because he wants to feel their thighs barely brushing as they dance, wants to feel Greedler's abdomen pressed against his own. 'I would say I'm pretty good at selling myself already,' he says dryly, and Greedler laughs.

'Honestly though. I'm making it my mission to make sure that this thing makes it big. We could even be business partner together, if you like..? You'd be in full control of your own affairs, of course, but I could help you from time to time, and I'd make sure you were happy and had everything you needed and-'

He stops talking then, because Onceler's finger is resting on his lips. 'Shh,' he whispers, then removes his hand and leans forward to kiss Greedler gently on the cheek. The next thing he knows is that their lips are carefully brushing and that Greedler tastes of champagne, all sweet and rich and bitter, and that one gloved hand is steadily entwining in his hair with the pad of a thumb stroking along his jawline.

Onceler moves back, his eyes staying on Greedler's lips - the lips he'd just kissed - before fluttering back up to meet his gaze. Vibrant eyes with wide-blown pupils stare back at him. Onceler can feel his heart thrumming through every fibre of his being and his breath catches in his throat as he tries to speak.

'Greedler-'

'Shh.'

And then Greedler's other hand is on the small of his back and pulling him closer, and that those full lips are pressed against his own again and moving and nudging and nibbling. The deep, musky smell has gotten stronger, and Onceler tilts his head and throws his arms around Greedler's shoulders. The alcohol has made his head light and this overload of senses and stimuli is only making him feel even higher, and he can't get enough. Greedler's lips move to kiss his cheek and his jaw and Onceler pushes up against him, feeling unbelievable jolts zip through his body.

He sighs blissfully, and a second later he's being pulled into Greedler's room and over to the bed. It's about an hour earlier than the usual time they've been retiring to sleep, but Onceler doesn't really mind. He doesn't think they'll be sleeping for a while.

Greedler sits down on his bed and pulls Onceler down too, who has no choice but to sit in his lap. But he's happy about it, and wraps his arms and legs around Greedler like a koala around a tree trunk before going in to kiss him once more. Short, quick kisses are snatched and deposited all over Onceler's cheeks, nose, neck, and mumbled words punctuate each one: 'Onceler...I love you.. I _love _you, Onceler I _love _you so _much_...'

And warmth spreads from Onceler's heart and fills out to emanate from every line, every pore. Greedler continues, whispering now as his gloved hands brush up and down Onceler's arms, raising goosebumps. 'I'm sorry and I know this is so quick but I _love_ you, I really do and I've loved you for _ages_ and I'm really sorry because this might be a bit of a shock but...'

A small, surprisingly coherent thought raises from the back of Onceler's mind: '_If it's anything, it's definitely not a shock._' He smiles to himself, and raises one hand to run the fingers through Greedler's mess of dark hair which has been steadily coming out of its professional slicked-back look for the past couple of hours. 'I think... I think I might be starting to love you, too.'

Greedler splits into a huge grin. 'Excellent,' he declares, his voice wavering just a tad, before recapturing Onceler's lips again. A slick tongue prods timidly at the seam of Onceler's lips and he parts them, allowing it in to touch his own and that sharp electric shock rumbles through him once more. He flinches and a little moan escapes the back of his throat before he can help it. Greedler's kiss immediately gets that tiny bit faster, more intense, and there's an almost imperceptible hardening beneath Onceler's own stirring arousal where he's sat on Greedler's lap.

He pulls away and looks down, and Greedler coughs nervously. 'Sorry,' he apologises, and Onceler sees that his eyes are worried and his cheeks are flushed.

'Don't be sorry,' he reassures, giving the tip of Greedler's nose a quick kiss. He shifts in his seat so that he's sat a little bit further down Greedler's thighs, and suddenly palms the slight tent at his groin,causing Greedler to close his eyes, clench his fists and let out a stifled moan through gritted teeth.

Onceler smirks. 'This just happens to be my speciality.'


End file.
